


Watermelon in Easter Hay

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Violence, Dark, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gore, M/M, Torture, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe They wanted him to know how low They could bring his friend, his genetic superior, his Alpha. Maybe They wanted him scared, or anxious, or otherwise emotional. Or maybe They just didn’t care.</p><p>Well, it didn’t matter. He was scared. He was anxious. He was otherwise emotional.</p><p>Or: Scott and Stiles get hella tortured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watermelon in Easter Hay

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hi, yes, I'm a pretentious asshole, here to lay down some funky rhymes.
>
>>   
> So he goes back to his ugly little room  
> And quietly dreams his last imaginary guitar solo  
> \- Watermelon in Easter Hay, Frank Zappa 

__****

* * *

Scott was screaming in the other room; he didn’t need werewolf hearing to know that. He could practically **feel** it, shaking the walls and the floor and his chest. He thought that maybe he was supposed to hear. Maybe They wanted him to know how low They could bring his friend, his genetic superior, his Alpha. Maybe They wanted him scared, or anxious, or otherwise emotional. Or maybe They just didn’t care.

Well, it didn’t matter. He was scared. He was anxious. He was otherwise emotional. He was angry, at Scott, because Scott was supposed to be with the others at the meeting point, taking on these guys (or he assumed They were the baddies they had been looking for). Scott had had second thoughts, and he’d rushed out in the dark to Stiles minutes before the room swam and they fell. Stiles wasn’t being watched, and Stiles was weak, vulnerable, and needed to be looked after (although Scott never said that - no, he’d never admit that).

Stiles knew, in these brief moments while alone, listening to his friend scream and curse and sob in pain, that he would have been taken either way. But Scott shouldn’t have been. He should have been with Allison and Isaac and Derek -

He squeezed his eyes shut. He wondered if Derek knew something was wrong yet. He wondered if Derek was already on his way, fanged and blue-eyed and vengeful. How much time had gone by since they were taken?

Scott’s screams were biting off and he was gasping and choking on his own breath, so Stiles couldn’t hear him. He could hear footsteps, two pairs, and Stiles, seated, his arms and legs tied to the arms and legs of a chair, doubled his frantic efforts to pull something free. 

They were rolling something along and, for an irrational moment, Stiles knew it was Scott, passed out, being rolled to him on a gurney, covered in his own blood and sweat and tears but with no physical marks. Stiles didn’t want to see him, didn’t want him to watch because Stiles knew - **he knew** \- what was happening.

Two people entered, pushing a bodiless cart. She and He both wore masks, and He wore a medical mask over the mouth of His, in a parody of a surgeon. They were child-faced, staring at him, with only slits of flickering adult eyes.

He wheeled the cart to a halt and started to clean off bloodied instruments. 

She spoke. “Stiles. I’m so glad you’re awake. Your Alpha woke up first, so we started with him. I hope you don’t mind.”

“What time is it?” he asked. “Did I miss Girl Code?”

She didn’t laugh and He didn’t laugh. Stiles hadn’t expected much more.

“No worries.” he swallowed as the man picked up one particularly sharp and shining piece. “I can find it online later.”

“Your mouth must be dry. Would you like some water?” She motioned to Him and He produced a half-empty water bottle that Stiles eyed suspiciously. 

“You think I’m stupid?” Stiles scoffed. “That’s probably drugged.”

“It was good enough for your Alpha,” She shrugged, and Stiles sighed internally. Sharp tool in hand, He approached. “Would you like us to explain why you’re here?” She asked evenly. Stiles licked his lips and tried to draw away as He took his left hand and placed a tool under one of his nails. He was looking back at Her, waiting for His cue. 

Very seriously, but definitely panicked, heart rabbiting, voice weak, he asked, “Is this about my library fines?”

She nodded to Him and He shoved _In. Derek wasn’t even gently easing in, like he had the first time they’d done this. He was shoving in, shoving in, slamming, not holding his strength back like he usually did. Stiles’s eyes were shocked wide, his mouth choking open, almost to scream but not quite making it._

_Before Stiles could get used to it, Derek was pounding up into him again and again and then once more._

_Stiles barely managed out, “ **Oh -** ” and Derek kept shoving in harder. It hurt, it **hurt** , but it was Derek and there was a hand clasped around his cock and one on his hip, grounding him the way he liked. It was even starting to feel good, despite the pain, and Derek started to husk, low in his ear._

_“You gonna tell Them, baby?”_

_“N-” but Derek was still slamming and so speaking, **thinking** , was near impossible. _

_“Are you gonna tell Them?”_

_“What-”_

_“Gotta be strong, baby.” Derek mumbled senselessly, the way he sometimes said how good Stiles was or felt when he was nearing his end. “Gotta be still.”_

_“Derek - ”_

_“I’ve got you. Baby, shh.” he said, and he was coming inside of him. It felt so hot, so wet, filling his senses and still pounding. He could feel it pounding all the way to his hands, his fingertips. His hands felt so wet._

_“Oh my God,” Stiles cried out, as it was dawning on him and_ he looked at his own hands. “Oh my God.”

His fingers were bleeding.

* * *

He passed out, again, and he woke up in a room with Scott. Scott was fussing over him - his hands. His shirt was torn and dirty and brown with his blood, but he looked okay. Whole.

“Scotty, my friend,” he managed out with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“ **Fuck** , Stiles.” Scott said. “Stiles, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how they got us.”

“The Pack will find us soon. I know it.” Stiles said. “What do They want?”

Scott looked hesitant, said nothing. 

“Was it about the meet up?” Stiles prompted. “Are They with the **whatever** it is we’re fighting these days? Do They want information about the Pack?”

“I don’t think they **care** , Stiles.” Scott said. “They asked me about my parents, and your dad, and Allison. None of it connects. I’m not sure there’s a reason.” 

“Come on,” Stiles said, ignoring the response, his voice light and thin. “Let’s bust out.” It was obviously more of a question, and Scott shook his head.

“No luck.” he said, sounding understandably down. “The door is locked. Room’s lined with mountain ash outside.”

“Mountain ash,” Stiles croaked, a little weak, “What’s the problem?” he half-joked. “You’ve pushed through mountain ash before.”

Scott hesitated. “I’m not,” he started, “I don’t feel right, Stiles. I’m not feeling good.” 

He blinked. “Not **feeling** good?” he repeated. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Weak.” Scott tried. “Sick. I haven’t felt like this since I was human.”

Those were not on the list of words that were okay to hear in this situation. Regardless, he nodded. “That’s okay.” he said. “That’s okay because the Pack is looking for us and they’re gonna find us, okay? They’re coming.”

Scott didn’t look relieved to hear that, almost like he didn’t believe it as much as Stiles did, but he managed a smile and a creaky, “Yeah. They’re coming.”

* * *

Food was scarce. They had water pushed through a slit in the door three times a day, and two bowls of some foul smelling stew and a piece of bread to share twice. Stiles’s fingers hurt, so Scott broke it. He tried to give the bigger piece to him, but Stiles bitched so profoundly, that Scott refigured the split and then placed it in his friend’s cupped, sore hands.

“I could try to take the pain.” Scott offered while Stiles ate quietly. “I don’t feel great, but all my wounds are healed like normal, so maybe - ” Stiles was already shaking his head.

“Save your mojo. You never know when you’ll need it.”

“Maybe **you** need it.” Scott pointed out, eyes darting down to where Stiles’s fingernails had been. He shook his head again. “Come on, Stiles, it’s got to hurt.”

“Stop it.” he finally snapped. Scott did, and the pain didn’t.

* * *

"Good morning, Stiles." she said. Stiles was on his knees, tied at the ankles, arms free, next to short tub of water.

"Is it?" he asked, eying the water and then glancing at Her. "I didn't know."

"That it's morning or that it's good?" Her head cocked to the side a little and He started to bind Stiles's wrists together.

"Both."

"Hmm." She nodded, and He joined her by the rolling tray. "We haven't really been able to work very well together, have we? We were hoping you might be more agreeable today."

And Stiles bit his tongue and set his jaw to tamp down on the lighthearted **doubt it** he had been ready to lark. She made a pleased noise.

"So we have some questions for you."

Stiles nodded, readying himself to deflect like he had before. He readied Himself as well, coming to stand by his side.

"What do you know about extrasensory perception?" 

And Stiles stared at her. Blinked. His mouth fell open. After a moment, he asked, " **What?** "

He grabbed him by his hair and forced him face-first into the freezing water, soaking down his chest and shoulders. Stiles floundered and bucked up immediately. He was held down for almost too long and then was pulled up, where he sputtered and spit and panted for breath.

"Would you like me to repeat the question?"

"I'd like you to not immediately try to drown me and give me a second to think." 

"You can think in there." She said, and he was pushed down again, his body bucking and pulling even before he touched the water.

"No, no, no," he refused, pushing back against His insistent grip. "No, sto - " and he got a mouthfull of water. Logically, he didn't think they were going to kill him, by accident or on purpose or in any way, at least not yet. He couldn't, however, know that for sure, and he didn't want to die like this. While he knew struggling made it worse, he didn't want to drown. He couldn't handle drowning. He couldn't do this - he wasn't strong enough. And he'd been down there for less time but his head was already pounding and he was going to breathe in ice water at any second and- 

He was pulled back up.

" **Stop**." he choked out, close to sobbing, panting hard. "I don't know anything about that. I can't answer your question."

"You have to know something." She said mildly.

"I know lots of things." Stiles assured her hoarsely. "I can tell you lots of things, but I don't know anything about ES - " and he was being pushed down again. "Please, I - " and _his mouth was full. Derek's grip was tight on his shoulder and he was filling his mouth so completely. He was fucking in, rocking gently, not letting up, not letting Stiles **breathe** , because everything Stiles did was for Derek and Derek could decide when he did things like that. _

_He hit the back of his throat and Stiles was gagging._

_"Are you gonna tell Them, baby?" Derek asked. He didn't let Stiles up to answer that, so he made a soft, muffled sound, and Derek hushed, "Baby, shh. you gotta be strong," and he was pulling out, stroking his cock at Stiles's flushed, panting face. He came in the next moment, coating over Stiles's lips and cheek. It was so cold, though, and it had never been **cold** before, and it_ was dripping all down the front of his clothes. “Step out.” She ordered.

“What?” Stiles coughed.

“Not you.” She said, simply, and He straightened up, letting Stiles fall back onto the ground, gasping. He stared at Her, but She said nothing else and so He stalked out.

She waited a moment after He shut the door, then said, “This doesn’t have to be so hard,” with some sympathy as he sat still and panting, incredulous. “We can help each other. You just have to do what I want.”

Stiles closed his eyes slowly, weary, as he said, “I don’t have any answers.”

She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you know why we’re doing this?” 

He shook his head. 

She sighed. “That’s too bad.”

And there was something in the way She said it that confused him even more. “What?”

“I said that’s too bad.” She repeated. “We don’t know either.” and She pulled up the chair from the side of the room to sit across from him.

Now, instead of confusion, Stiles felt an unreasonable, or so he wanted to believe, amount of fear. She wasn’t much closer to him, and he was unrestrained, and She was unarmed, but Stiles felt himself shrinking even more away from Her.

“What do you mean?” he asked, slowly.

“I’ve seen this happen so many times,” she sighed, “It started happening college - it’s why I dropped out of med school. It plays over and over. Always the same way. And I don’t understand it.” She looked to him, Her eyes peeking out of the mask’s slits, and she earnestly told him, “I’ve known your face for so long, and I know what you look like here and I know what you’ll look like at the end of this all. But we'd never met before this.”

“I don’t,” Stiles breathed, trying to control his panicked heart. “I don’t think I understand.”

“This is how things are.” She explained, slowly, “I don’t know why we do this, but I’ve seen us do this a thousand times. It’s always the same, so we can’t change course.” As an aside, she scoffed, “He thinks its God’s Will. He thinks that I'm seeing God’s Path, but I’m not so sure. Why would God have me do this?” And she asked him seriously, like he might have some sort of answer.

Stiles forced himself to swallow, whole body still shaking with the cold, “Can’t you just let me go? Wouldn’t that change it?”

She stared at him, and he could tell She thought he was the crazy one here. “That’s not how things go.” She told him. “That’s not at all how things go. Why would you say that?”

Closing his eyes to calm himself down, he asked a, “What can I do? You said I could make this better.”

“You can change it.” She told him, “You can say something new. You can wear a different expression for just a moment. Just do something different this time. Then you can leave and you’re Alpha might get help.” 

“What are you doing to him?” Stiles asked.

“Your friend?” She asked. She shrugged. “Drug cocktail. Dims the powers. He’s going to die because of it, you know.” 

Stiles just tried to breathe. “Why?” he bit out.

She shrugged again and sounded almost sympathetic. “It has to be this way. This is the way things go.” And then she laughed, like a high bell, and said, “Maybe you can change things. We’ll let you both go if you change things.” and She called Him back in so He could try drowning Stiles again.

* * *

“There’s no reason for it,” Stiles said, manic, pacing the cell. Scott watched him from where he was sitting, leaning heavily against the wall. “No reason at all. I mean, they’re crazy. She said She - **Sees** things. That She's seen us. But that’s impossible.” He looked to Scott for confirmation.

Scott lifted his shoulder in a weak shrug. “I don’t know. There’s a lot we don’t know.”

“ **No.** ” Stiles said. “There’s not some magical force in the future that wants to torture us. This isn’t our future, Scott. We just gotta get out of here.” And Scott sighed, heavily, so Stiles came to sit next to him. “Scotty, our Pack is looking for us. They didn’t account for our Pack in their weird, fucked up delusion, okay? They’re going to find us - and I’m gonna - I’ll do something different. I’ll shock the hell out of those two and they’ll have to let us go. Okay?” he asked.

Peeking at him blearily, looking paler than he ever had, Scott gave him a small, unconvincing smile. “Okay.”

* * *

_Derek had tied his arms behind his back and Stiles had closed his own eyes shut so tight that he was seeing that almost red that says under his eyelids, and he couldn't breathe. Derek was fucking him **so hard**. Keeping him barely upright on his lap, Derek pistoned his hips up relentlessly._

_"Stoh-" but Stiles couldn't finish the word, groaning in a long, loud string, unable to ask **stop** or **slow** or **less**._

_"How's your heart, baby?" Derek asked, and Stiles was gasping for breath, but couldn't get any, and he was so **hot**. "Is it still yet? Is your heart still?"_

_"No."_

_"Gotta be strong, baby. Make your heart - "_

_"Still." Stiles was crying out. "Still. Gonna be strong for - "_

_"You." Derek cut him off. "You have to be strong for you."_

_"But you said-"_

_"Baby, shh." and Derek was pounding into him, but his rhythm was slowing and he was gonna shoot. “Baby, now.”_

She was asking him a question, and He had stopped for a moment, breath a little heavier, letting the wooden plank He’d been beating him with fall to the ground next to his curled up frame. Stiles whole body was sore, and his elbow ached fiercely like something might be really wrong with it, but he seemed to come to, noticing the board beside him. 

It happened before he really realized, his leg shooting out to knock the slightly panting man just off balance enough snatch up the plank and wobble to his feet. He swung wide and hit Him hard once, forcing him down and aside. He held out the plank between himself and her.

“What do you expect to do with that?” she asked, sounding bored, like this was all so trivial.

“I’m gonna bash your fucking heads in.” 

He laughed, fixing his skewed mask, and She exhaled softly through her nose. “Put it down, Stiles.” She ordered, plainly. “We all know this won’t work.”

“ **No.** ” he said. “Let me go.”

“If you do this,” She articulated, although She seemed to be preparing to leave while He snapped off His plastic gloves and tossed them aside, “You’re friend will die.”

Stiles looked between Them, sweat beading down his neck. “I don’t believe you.” he insisted, trying to convince himself. “You’re lying.”

She just shrugged and turned to leave. “Whatever,” She said, “That’s how things are.” He slipped out of the room first and She followed, leaving Stiles still and alone and clutching a useless board.

He waited a second and then carefully walked to the door. Hesitating at the handle and then throwing it open, leading with the plank, he cautiously left the room. When he saw how empty the hallways was, he broke off into a limping sprint to Scott. 

He broke the mountain ash that lined the door and tried the handle, which did nothing, so he called, “Scotty! You need to break down the door! We’re gonna get out of here!” 

He stepped back to rest wearily against the wall and let Scott do his thing, but there was only a dull thud followed by another dull thud and Scott shouting back, distressed, “I **can’t**. I’m not strong enough. Stiles, you have to go get help and - “

“Come back.” Stiles supplied, staggering to his feet, promising, “I’m going to come back. As soon as I find someone, I’m going to come back for - “

“Just **go** , Stiles.” Scott said, and Stiles was off.

It didn’t take him long, stumbling through the twisting, cold hallway, trying to open locked doors, quickly finding a staircase that led up to a door that led out. He hadn’t expected it to be unlocked, but when he shouldered it, it fell open and tumbled out into the light. 

It was all a little disorienting. When his eyes adjusted to the bright glare of sun, he saw that he was surrounded by endless desert. Every direction he turned showed miles of empty waste. No buildings, besides what looked like a shack that he’d just come out of, no roads, no people. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. It was sweltering out and he was beginning to feel light headed. Circling the little hut, he was greeted by more nothing and a heavy, sick feeling settling in his stomach. “Shit.”

Of course they had let him go so easily. Crazy psychic delusions aside, they would have known he had nowhere to go. Running in any direction was just stupid, especially in this heat, especially when he was feeling so weak and tired and nauseated.

He went back into the small shack to look around the tiny entrance. Besides the stairs down, the only other features of the room where some dirty, streaked windows, a wooden table, and an old, black flip-pone.

It had been left for him, obviously. It was part of the game. Some part of Her twisted fucked up little fantasy dictated that Stiles got a chance to call for help - or at least to feel like he did. And, he knew it had to be a trick somehow but he took a few halting steps forward, and, before he could really talk himself out of it, snatched up the phone.

On instinct, unthinking, he dialed Derek first.

It rang, and rang, and rang, and rang. He felt himself wavering on his feet because it was going to go to voice mail and he desperately wanted to hear Derek’s voice. It rang once again.

“Hello?” He sounded angry, distracted, and the connection was faded and crackling.

“Oh,” Stiles breathed, heart thumping wildly in his chest, all of him lighting up.

“ **Stiles?** ” Derek’s breath hitched and Stiles felt so relieved he thought he might be close to tears, his hand shaking as he finally put down the wooden board he’d been dragging around. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” he rushed. “Scott and I - They took us - We’re surrounded by desert out here. I couldn’t see anything.”

“Who are they - yeah, it’s Stiles on the phone,” he said to someone else, and then repeated, “Who are they, Stiles?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles choked out, looking over his shoulder at the stairs. “They wear these masks. They’re drugging Scott - “ Stiles told him, near hysterics, “They keep saying he’s not going to make it. Oh, God, She keeps talking about the end, but I don’t know what that - “ 

“Stiles,” Derek barked, and Stiles bit his lip to keep from talking. “You need to breathe.” and he paused to listen to his shaky inhale. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

Stiles pressed a hand over his eyes. He exhaled very slowly. “They think She’s psychic. She was in med school, but She dropped out, but She knows what She’s doing and They have better quality medical tools. We’re under some fucking shed in the middle of fucking nowhere. There’s a shitton of rooms down there, and I have no idea what they’re all used for.” 

“Do you know what time it is there?” Derek asked.

Stiles checked the phone. “Just after noon.”

Someone was murmuring something to Derek and he said, “If that’s right, you’re not too far away. We’re going to find you. You just gotta hold on a little bit longer,” 

“Okay,” Stiles murmured, “Okay.”

“I - “ Derek started, but Stiles could hear someone coming up the stairs.

“Oh, fuck.” he panicked. “Oh, God, I have to hang up.” 

“Stiles, what - “

“He’s coming,” and he clambered for the wooden board. “Oh, God, I’m such an idiot.” And he ended the call just as He reached the top of the stairs. He’d upgraded from the plank to a baseball bat, which Stiles eyed with some envy, and was holding it casually in one hand. Stiles was frozen in place, the phone falling out of his hand as he clutched the plank but didn’t raise it. 

The bat was brought swiftly up and over his head and he was out.

* * *

Scott was over him when he came to again. He looked exhausted, worried, his eyes sunken and dark as he gazed at his friend in the dark. “Stiles,” he said, helping him sit up. He leaned Stiles against the wall and then joined him there. “I guess you didn’t get out.”

“Nowhere to go.” Stiles croaked. “There’s nothing out there.”

Scott’s eyes widened. He looked terrified. “Nothing? Like, just **nothing?** ”

“Desert.” Stiles corrected. “But, I found a phone.” Despite his obvious fatigue, Scott perked up a little, and Stiles continued, “I called Derek.”

“Derek?” Scott repeated. “Did you try to call the police? They could track us. They’d be closer.”

Stiles blinked. “No, I called Derek. But, the Pack’s gonna find us.” he assured Scott, who almost didn’t look like he believed him. “It’s gonna be okay, because they’re coming.”

“Yeah,” Scott sighed and closed his eyes,. Stiles stared at him, heart sinking.

“I’m sorry.”

Scott reached forward blindly and took his hand, but didn’t say anything else.

* * *

_“I heard your voice.” Stiles crowed, eyes half-shut, a hand viced around his dick, pumping. “You’re real voice,” he near-cried as Derek, hand on his own cock, stroked in time with him. “God, I miss you so much.”_

_“Baby, shh.” Derek hoarsed out, eyes caught on where Stiles was touching himself._

_“I just **miss** you.” Stiles repeated._

_“Gotta be still.”_

_“You’re coming, though.” Stiles said. “You’re gonna come for me.”_

_“Yeah, baby, I’m coming,” he said, and spilled over his own hand. In the quiet as Stiles fucked his hand and Derek caught his breath, he said, “You just gotta hold on a little bit longer.”_

* * *

Stiles had a hard time sleeping. They had never come to take him or Scott while they were out, but Stiles never said never and waking up in a different, cold, concrete room scared him more than he could express. Scott had said they should sleep in shifts, because he’d seen how ragged Stiles was getting, even without Their help. Apparently, he didn’t stop being Alpha of a Pack just because he couldn’t fight or scent or heal anymore.

Even then, after they’d arranged a working schedule, Stiles would lie awake for hours, forcing himself still, regulating his breathing, listening to the sounds of Scott, quietly and openly awake in the dark. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Scott to stay up - and out of respect for his friend, he never told him he did this. 

Twice, Scott had whispered to him, saying what he meant because he thought Stiles couldn’t hear him. He apologized the first time, and Stiles had almost roused to assure his friend that this wasn’t anything for him to be sorry about. He’d refrained only because Scott had then raised his voice to notify him of their shift change.

The second time, however, Scott had actually prefaced with a hushed, “Stiles, are you awake?”

Stiles said nothing and listened to Scott sigh and settled in closer.

“I - “ he whispered, so quietly, Stiles almost couldn’t hear him. “I don’t think anyone’s coming for us.” he admitted, and Stiles felt his heart clench. “We don’t even know who They are. How could they find us?”

Scott breathed in and out slowly, with some effort to stay quiet, and Stiles catalogued every hitch and fall. He listened to Scott wet his lips.

“I don’t think,” and he made the softest distressed sound he could manage, and Stiles felt a whine bubbling in his throat and his eyes squeezing shut hard. “I don’t think I’m going to,” he whispered deliberately, and swallowed before saying, “Make it. I can’t take this much longer, not without my power. And I can’t leave you alone.

“But, I don’t think I can,” and he hesitated again, like he could hardly even think the word, let alone speak it. “Do that. Not without my strength. Not without you waking up. And if you woke up, I wouldn’t - I don’t think I could go through with it if you woke up.” His voice hushed off at the end, and would have been completely incomprehensible if Stiles hadn’t understood what he was trying to convey perfectly. 

Scott sat up a little next to him and was silent for a moment, as if working up to it.

“Stay asleep.” he told him, demanded, ordering in a hoarse whisper. “Just stay asleep.”

Stiles felt a gentle hand on his throat; fingers wrapping around as if testing, seeing how hard it would be, and Stiles almost let him but he accidently let out a small, choked sound he’d been trying to stifle, and Scott pulled his hand away like it had been burned. 

Neither of them said anything, but Scott started to cry. Stiles pulled him to his chest which just made him sob harder.

* * *

Scott died while he was out the next day, and Stiles couldn’t even begin to express how unfair that was. He hadn’t had the decency to wait, or to give Stiles a head’s up so he could ay goodbye. Stiles didn’t even know it had happened until he’d gotten close to Scott and said his name twice.

“Scotty?” he asked, again, voice hitching. He touched his shoulder. “Scotty, you need to wake up right now because if you don’t that means - “ and his breath caught so he didn’t say any more, except a whining, “ **Scotty** ,” and “ **Please**.”

He nudged at his arm more insistently and heard more than felt himself begin to cry. “You can’t leave me alone. You said so. You can’t leave me here alone like this.” He wiped uselessly at his wet face and started to sob into the cradle of his hands. “ **Don’t leave me**.”

He breathed slowly and collected himself. Looking down at this friend, he whispered. “You were supposed to do it tonight. I - I was going to be quiet and **let** you. I can’t do this **alone**. So, please, wake up so we can go together.” He took Scott’s hand and pulled him up a bit. It fell down once he let go and Stiles’s chest ached and he keened his name again.

He had doubled over, body bowing and hitching with each sob, but he didn’t say anything else. When his breathing had settled a little, he climbed under Scott’s cool arm and pressed his dirty hand to his cheek and, against his will, fell asleep like a child.

* * *

_Derek’s arm was heavy around his waist, but it was warm and Stiles snuggled against him._

_“They have this device,” he remarked lightly, idly playing with the man’s hands. “It finds your ribs. You know, really takes a hold of them. Then it breaks them. I mean, not all of them. One by one. It finds one and then breaks it.”_

_Derek made a small, impressed noise. “Did they use it on you?”_

_“Yeah.” Stiles said. He lost all sense of levity as his body started to ache again. Derek tried to tighten his grip to provide comfort, but it just pressed down even more. “It **hurts** , Derek. Oh, fuck, Derek, it hurts all the time.”_

_“Baby, shh.”_

_“Derek, I’m so scared.”_

_“You just gotta hold on a little bit longer.”_

_“I’m trying to be strong - but I’m all alone, now, Derek; I’m all alone.”_

_Derek sounded like he was chuckling. “What do you know about being strong, Stiles?”_

_“You gotta make your heart stone.” Stiles said. “You gotta be still.” but, Derek’s warmth was leaving, the arm getting heavier and colder by the second and he wasn’t surrounded by the light of his loft or the light scent of clean sheets and_ Stiles woke up gasping, Scott’s dead arm wrapped tightly over his body. Repulsed, crying out, he threw the limb away from him and scrambled to the other end of the cell. He threw up, mostly water, gagging and hitching as he sobbed.

* * *

Stiles’s eyes felt hot but he had stopped crying when They came to get him. She sent Him away once They had him situated in a room, tied to his chair. She sat across from him, crossing Her legs and relaxing back. He didn’t look at Her for long because he couldn’t bear to, so She sighed and said, “Just do something different. This isn’t fun for us.”

“He seems to enjoy it,” Stiles finally harshed. 

“He’s a zealot and an optimist,” she said, turning back to look at the door He’d left through. “He doesn’t half-ass things.”

“You love him?” Stiles asked, not sure why he cared.

She hummed. “He believes in me. That’s what matters. Though, I...” She sounded downhearted, sorrowful, and She sat heavily in Her chair. She pressed her hand to the mask's forehead in a parody of fatigue. “I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore.”

“What,” Stiles spat, “The fuck are you talking about?”

She sighed again mournfully. “You remember when you made that phone call a couple of days ago?” She asked, clarifying, “Before your friend died?” Stiles just stared at her, trying to keep himself from shouting. “Well, when you made that call, you were supposed to get voice mail, which didn’t happen.” Stiles froze, spine straightening, “I’ve been mulling it over for days. Ever since then, everything else has been exactly the same. It’s just that one - “

“You **promised** me.” Stiles snapped. 

“What?” She startled.

“ **You promised me** that if I changed something, we could leave. I could take Scott and go and if you had let me he wouldn’t - You **promised**.”

“Yes, but,” She said, confused, “ **You** had to be the one changing something. You did exactly what you were supposed to.”

“You fuck,” he seethed, and She stood. “You absolute - ”

She caught his jaw and held it. “I won’t be spoken to like this. This isn’t how things go. I assure you, you don’t want to push me from here on. This is when things get bad.” Stiles breath caught as She forced him to meet Her gaze through the slits in the mask and then released him harshly to stomp to the door. It slammed behind Her.

Alone for a moment, he pulled on his bindings, flush-faced and enraged, hoarsing out a harsh, hollow cry. It wasn’t until She led Him back in and he was smacked firmly across the face that he was able to dissolve fully into tears.

He dropped his head, shoulder shaking, but he could feel Her eyes on him. After another moment, he heard Him stalk over to the rolling tray.

“Guess we can just cut your tongue out.” She said, thoughtfully. Stiles looked up sharply. “Pull out all your teeth.” He turned with pliers and They both came to stand in front of him.

“Open up,” She said, Her hand back at his jaw, forcing his chin up. Stiles closed his eyes to match his mouth and felt a firm, insisted pressure on his lips _as Derek kissed him softly, again and again, sweetly then deeply. His hands curled at Stiles’s sides, pressing him close. Stiles’s fingers threaded through his hair, and he sighed when Derek moved to his neck, sucking and nipping the way he liked._

_“Was it like this for you?” Stiles hummed, eyes open to look down at him as he trailed down his naked chest, almost reverently. “With the hunters?”_

_“Well,” Derek considered, pausing to look up at him, weight settling pleasantly over Stiles’s smaller frame, “I still have all my teeth.” And he showed them off in a wide, content smile._

_Stiles beamed back, hands framing his face. “That’s not fair. You can grow yours back.” and Derek leaned up to peck him on the lips, then dipping back down to lap at a nipple. Stiles sobered. “Will you still want to do this when I have no teeth and no tongue? Will it gross you out too much?”_

_“Baby, shh.” Derek said, distracted._

_“I’ll be so boring to kiss.” Stiles insisted, wiggling on his back a little._

_“You gotta be still.” Derek scolded, hands holding him in place. His thumb pet a circle on his hipbone, and he kissed him again slowly._

_“Derek - “ Stiles managed out._

_“You just gotta hold on a little_ Stiles was let go again and She was laughing.

“I really had you going for a minute, didn’t I?” She said as He tossed the pliers back on the cart. “We wouldn’t do that to you.” and She was taken by another bout of laughter. "That'd be **crazy.** " 

Stiles didn’t find it as amusing as She did and was only marginally relieved.

* * *

It was a lot like it had been in the beginning, except they completely dropped the pretense of Stiles having any real reason to be there. The would take him out at some point, he wasn’t sure if there was a set time because he had no way of keeping track of anything as his feedings were getting even more sporadic.

He knew They weren’t forgetting; he got water consistently - even more than before. They must have decided he didn’t need actual as much actual food. He got bread and whatever they seemed to have on hand at an ever decreasing rate, and he doubted he had the strength or energy to withstand much more of this.

“Now that your friend’s gone.” She said, Stiles secured tightly in his chair, his head drooping in exhaustion, one eye swollen shut, “We don’t have to make you that nasty stew any more to mask the taste of what we were dosing you two with. 

“However,” She continued, lightly, “We’re not really sure what to feed you now. Shopping isn’t our top priority - we’re not made of money. And the preparation necessary for cooking someone like you a meal don’t really seem worth it anymore. But, we don’t want you to die. So,” and She advanced, reaching forward to grip the meat of Stiles’s thin arm. It didn't hurt. It was more of just a firm hold, like She was testing to see how much was there, and Stiles shook his head immediately.

“ **No.** ” he said, as firmly as he could while shuddering. 

Ignoring him, She said, “You just tell us how much you want and we’ll get it prepared for you.”

“No, no, no,” Stiles stated, jerking uselessly to get away.

“You know you’ll be safe.” She promised him earnestly. “We’ll treat it - and you won’t be able to get away if you’re weak from starvation.” 

“I won’t - “ Stiles tried, unable to fully comprehend what was happening to him. “I won’t - Don’t - I want to starve.”

She sighed and turned to the cart for the tourniquet while He grabbed the bone saw. “This is such a shame.” She said, “If you had been agreeable, you would have gotten through this. We’d have let you go. And, you really need to eat to stay healthy.” She started to fashion the bandage and went back for the blow torch to cauterize the wound. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, frantically, pulling away weakly as He placed the blade of the saw at his wrist. “I said no. I said **stop. Stop**.” he choked, nearly dislocating his own wrist in an effort to get away. “ **Stop**. I said **don’t** I don’t want **stop** let me starve.”

The saw was raised _up to his mouth and kissed his palm. Stiles was sobbing, inconsolable. His other hand fisted in Derek’s shirt and he wheezed, “Where are you? You’re supposed to break the door down in a ray of light and save me. This isn’t supposed to happen to me. This doesn’t happen to me.”_

_“Baby - “ Derek started, eyes dipped shut peacefully, calmly, pressing another kisses to his palm. Stiles caught his jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks as he forced the man to look at him._

_“ **Where are you?** ” he ground out, and he wanted to hurt him but his hand was shaking and he felt weak, so Derek pulled it down slowly, eyes locked with Stiles. _

_“You just gotta hold on a little bit longer.”_

_“I have been **waiting** ,” Stiles harshed, “For so long. You’re not coming. You’re not **coming**.”_

_“You gotta be still.” Derek said, softly, delicately pressing Stiles's trembling fingers between his own strong, warm hands. “What are they doing now?”_

_Stiles looked down to where they were touching. “They’re taking it. Oh God, when you go, it’s going to be gone. They’re going to slide it through the slit in my door on a platter and it’ll be all black and charred and - “ he cut himself off._

_“How Baby Jane.” Derek hummed, thumb trailing a circle over his pulse point._

_“I never saw that movie.” Stiles told him, trying to calm down._

_Derek shrugged. “You’ve just got to hold on a little longer.” He threaded Stiles’s fingers with his own._

_Stiles shook and jolted and cried and Derek squeezed his hand tighter, “Baby, shh.”_

_“I can’t do this,” he sobbed. “You’re not coming.”_

_“You’re gonna be okay.” Derek said, sounding very serious, hand coming up to frame Stiles’s wet cheek. Stiles shook his head adamantly._

_“I can’t I can’t I_ can’t.”

* * *

A set of hands carried him back to his cold room and he was already sobbing, loud, harsh, his legs dragged behind him as his whole body shook and shuddered with his wailing. They dumped him on the ground and he was left, stump cleaned and bandaged and ugly.

“I’m going to die here.” he wept to Derek, who was not there. His body was buckling and bowing, his five fingers close to tearing into the ground, despite the scabs and the puss and the hot pain. He let out another choked, keening noise.

“I’m going to die **alone**.” he moaned out, sniffling and pulling up to wipe a dirty, bloodstained hand over his wet, dirty, bloodstained cheek. “You’re never going to **find me**.” he choked out, his eyes scrunching tight.

“ **I’m going to die for no reason**.” His voice was giving out as he tried to gasp for breath and his body was giving out until he was collapsed on his side and could only harsh out hoarse, broken sounds. 

_“Baby, shh.” Derek said,_ but Derek wasn’t in the room and Stiles wailed and shook and sobbed even harder.

* * *

Stiles was left alone for hours, maybe days, sometimes, because They obviously had lives or other people to torture. When left alone, he thought a lot about what he’d do when he was saved. He thought about the grand tour he’d take people on, saying:

 _Here’s where I sleep Here’s the corner I shit in Here’s where Scott died Here’s where I should have let Scott kill me in my sleep before he died over there Here’s the slot in the door they push food through even though they could just open the door and bring it in what could I do anyway They’ve got the tools they’ve got the sight Here’s the wall I stare at the most when there’s enough light I count the cracks and dimples Here’s the door they come through for me and Scott before Scott died over there because of the food they pushed through the slot in the same door they come through_ and sometimes he’d walk the room, gesturing with his one hand to places and Derek would nod solemnly and ask a question. He would pace and laugh at a joke and pace and answer a question and pace and pace and pace, muttering.

So they took that too.

* * *

He didn’t know it was one of the last times until She said, “One of the last times now. Until you’re let go.”

“Let go?” Stiles croaked, feeling feverish and muggy. He felt overheated all the time now, and always either confused or delirious or frightened. “You’re going to let me go?”

“How did you think this would end?” She laughed. “You’re gonna go home.” 

Stiles didn’t point out how ambiguous that was, but he figured that She knew and was using the ambiguity to be an asshole. Sitting back, weary, regarding Them with minimal expression, Stiles considered how sick he was of ambiguity. It was getting overdone. 

He warily eyed the bone cutter He grabbed but, too tired for any real reaction, stayed mostly still.

“Do you want to know what we’re going to do?” She asked. He came to stand behind Stiles’s chair. Stiles strained his neck, trying to look behind himself and keep Him in his line of vision, but He kneeled and grasped his ankle in Her hand. He understood immediately and kicked his leg away weakly, teeth clenched, heart picking up to a quick thud.

He caught his ankle. His whole body hitched and, exhaling, the air came out of him in a soft, desperate cry. He felt himself struggle pointlessly, his knees jerking, legs twitching to get away, and something gripped his tendon and then held it.

“Don’t do this,” he begged, breathlessly because he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs and his heart was beating too hard for him to hear his own voice. He shook his head, tears hot on his cheeks, “Don’t do this.”

“This is the how things go.” She said and he was sobbing, and _Derek’s hand was curled around the small of his back,_ it hurt so bad _and they were standing, chest to chest. His other hand held Stiles’s fingers, tangled lightly but_ He was moving to the other side and he was **wailing** and choking on his own spit _it was no less a comforting pressure. They swayed_ “ **No no no no.** ” Stiles keened, _Derek leading his steps._

_“We never did this,” Stiles hummed, listening to the soft, lull of a song he couldn’t quite distinguish._

_“Not really a lot of romance with us,” Derek admitted, smiling back._ it cut and snapped and _”No time for it lately.”_

_“Do you wish we had?” Stiles asked, sighing, pressing his cheek against Derek’s shoulder. Derek leaned in to breath him in._

_Sighing, “We still could.”_

_Stiles laughed_ screaming _gently and pulled back to look at him. “Derek,” he murmured, “I thought I was going to walk out of here with you.”_

_Derek pressed against him even more, lips brushing against his ear as he promised, “I can carry you.”_

_Stiles tossed his head back to laugh and felt Derek’s breath on his neck. He didn’t kiss or nip or lick, just stayed there to scent for a moment. Slowly, flushed, Stiles met his eye_ his ropes being untied _”My noble steed.”_

 _Derek looked at his strangely. “Where do you keep going?”_ “Walk.”

_”I’m with you.” Stiles said, like it was obvious._

_Still seeming unnerved, Derek placed his hand on Stiles jaw, holding his face to look into his eyes. “ **Walk**.” he s_ houted and hit him hard across the cheek. Stiles gasped an _d shook, pushing at his chest, trying to push Derek away with his good hand which was slapped aside when he was told once again to_ **Walk.**

Stiles shook his head, hyperventilating and could say nothing. He tried to wheeze out, “I can’t. I can’t.” 

“Get up and walk, you stupid shit.” She demanded, pulling harshly at Stlies’s arm to try and get him to move. 

“I can’t,” he choked, “Walk.”

“Come on,” She sneered. “Just get up and take a step. I thought you wanted to leave. We’ll let you walk out.” 

Instead, Stiles pressed his free hand over his eyes and sobbed into his swollen, dirty fingers. “ **Stop**.” he begged.

“ **Stop.** ” She mocked. She tugged viciously at Stiles’s hand and then his ear. “Move it. Walk.” and Her face was up close enough, breath hot over Stiles’s mouth, that his flailing, frantic hand ended up slapping across Her cheek, hard enough to give Her pause. 

She stared at the shaking, crying mess in the chair for a long moment and then turned to Him.

“That’s it,” She said, resigned. “That’s all we’re gonna get. It’s over.” He nodded. 

She pulled off her mask and let it fall to the ground. It clattered noisily and Stiles sent his blurry gaze to her average face. She was so frightfully normal looking that it made him choke on his own breath and sob a little harder. She was just a white girl who dropped out of med school. 

She said, “Let’s put him back.” And They did.

* * *

He lay quietly, because moving hurt and breathing hurt and he was too tired to stand things that hurt him. Distantly, he thought he might be crying, very gently, but was too removed to know if he was just imagining it. His eyes weren’t even open anymore, because it was dark in the cell and he’d had nothing to look at for days. He thought he might hear something - yelling or roaring or thudding towards him - but it was so faint that it could have been the building settling. 

He felt increasingly lost and very heavy and so hot, and he almost curled into himself but it took too much effort. He tried to crack his eyes open, everything too bleary and blurry for him to really make out.

But he saw light framing the edges of the door. 

He knew it was impossible, but he, aching, pushed himself up with his better arm and gazed. His eyes drifted shut and then opened once more.

Looking at the light, he could see someone coming to stand, blocking the bottom crack of illumination, and he felt so calm, so wholly calm, even though his body felt like it was on fire and he didn’t know who was on the other side of the door. 

He heard a murmur, or maybe he didn’t, but closed his eyes to the sound anyway.

“I guess I’m going to leave now.” he hummed, heat buzzing and cresting and peaking. He was dizzy, loose, and the light was consuming the door, the shadows of someone becoming an illuminated outline and then muted tones and then a whole, live being. 

Stiles opened his eyes and smiled for the first time in what felt like months. He wanted to reach a hand out; to ask if he’d been good, if his heart had hardened right, but he couldn’t do any of that. Had he had the energy, he would have vibrated in his own skin at the comfort promised to him by this sight. 

As it was, his bloodied head tilted back, readying to feel the warm rays of touch on his sore and swollen face. His good eye was half-lidded, dirt caked on his cheeks, mouth open to what had come in, slack and pleased and filled with broken teeth.

“Gonna take me home.” Stiles croaked, sure. He tried to open his eyes more. “Gonna take me **home**.” he repeated.

The figure approached and lay a soft hand on his cheek. Stiles dared to look him in the eyes and saw hazel and dark hair and tan skin. He leaned into the caress, and it felt as real as it always did. The hand slide down to cup his jaw, and he let out a soft, hoarse moan, a light cry at the gentle gesture.

He knew, in a removed sort of way, this was a nice dream to have before, but he didn’t say anything and didn’t move again. He could hear murmurs from outside of the room and fast footsteps and he shallow fall of his own heart. 

_“Stiles,”_ , he finally heard, feeling himself be pulled up and held and taken away. _“You’re doing so good, baby.”_

_You just gotta hold on a little bit longer._

**Author's Note:**

> This took a while to get out because it was a bit upsetting to write. I mean, obviously not too upsetting considering I finished and posted it, so I really shouldn't be complaining. I'm just trying to say that this took a while to write and I'm a bit nervous about it. So, I hope it was acceptable. 
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


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